Intersection

7:58- If this light would hurry up and turn, I might actually make work by 8:15. I'm supposed to be there at 8, but no one ever says anything when I show up late. Even though that's the case, I still feel a little bit guilty for having made this such a habit. There are about eight cars in front of me and I see the homeless man making his pass down the right shoulder hoping that someone will call him over and hand him money or food. I bet he's been at this intersection for the past four months at least and yet, I've probably seen someone hand him a bill three times.

Obviously, he looks very disheveled. His messy brown hair and beard appear to have not been trimmed in at least a year. He might as well have been stranded on a desert island for a year. His sign which was torn from a box reads, "Homeless vet. Please give what you can." A few people wave at him, but no one calls him over to their vehicle.

Finally, the light has turned green and I am heading straight down Memorial Avenue. As luck would have it, I didn't happen to get stopped at any other lights. I pull into the parking lot at 8:12. It's earlier than usual when I arrive at work, so I feel pretty good about myself. Now I can finally do what I do every day and stare mindlessly at a screen, waiting for emails to arrive so I can address people's insurance claims.

5:00- It's been another unsatisfying day. I think about working until 5:13 to make up for the time that I missed. Nah. This is worth it. I can't wait to get home and pour my first bourbon. It is quite literally the only thing that makes me "happy".

5:28- Jesus, that was a long day. I mean, it isn't the worst job in the world, but I know that I could be living my dream; whatever that is. The brown liquor hits the bottom of the small glass and I fill it until it reaches the the bottom of the tapered grooves that run down the side. I take a sip and then I bring it over to the couch. I press the button for the TV, but the goddamn thing doesn't turn on. I pull back a bit to see if that makes a difference. Finally, the fucking TV is on. Now I can watch the same shows I always watch. I flip the channel to Comedy Central and watch a marathon of South Park. Some this really doesn't hold up anymore, but who gives a shit? The episode I am watching was written over a decade ago. Things were different.

7:00 AM- I'm shooting the window out of childhood bedroom with a BB gun. "Ding duh ding ding ding ding! Ding duh ding ding---ding!" What the hell is this? I reach over to my phone and swipe the little "x" icon right. I have absolutely no desire to wake up. I would rather hang out in my childhood bedroom with my favorite musician and my cousin. Of course, I know that if I went back to sleep, I would probably not return to the same setting and circumstances. This alarm has fucked up everything in my life, presently. I flip back onto my stomach and grip the two pillows under my head.

8:54- Shit, I am running so late that I might have to make up an excuse this time. Once again, I am sitting at this busy ass intersection. Why is the light still red? It's been like 10 minutes! (It's been about 45 seconds, but I'm in a hurry.) There he is. The homeless guy again. I feel guily for not helping him, but it isn't enough guilt to actually do something. Oh, god. He has made eye contact with me. I look down at my phone and search for another song. I look back up and he is walking right toward me. I don't really know what the etiquette is in this instant. I wave and provide a guilty smile that says, "Please, I am just trying to be polite. Don't come to my window." He waves back, but he has a grimace that tells me that he has been at this for at least the amount of time that I had suspected yesterday. He appears to be operating on autopilot. He walks right past me and contines past the cars behind me.

9:07- I am so late. I sit at my desk, but no one says a word. I think that I might be able to push this even further. I have six unread emails. I open the first one:

To whom it may concern,

My name is Daniel and I recently attended a mental hospital, but your organization is refusing my claim because of a past diagnosis. In 2005, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety disorder and prescribed anti-depressants and Xanax. I am a vet and I have PTSD, but because of this previous diagnosis, your organization has rejected my claim. I would greatly appreciate it if you would look into this and see if we can run it through the system one more time.

-Thank you,

Daniel Tibbins

I am struck by the fact that the name sounds familiar. I work with a Garrett Tibbins. I wonder if they are related. I send my standard reply:

Hello, Daniel,

I assure you that Sanus Insurance will look into your claim and see if there is any remedy that we can provide to your current situation. On behalf of the whole company, I apologize for any inconvenience that this has caused you.

Sincerely,

Carl Emberson

I hit "send" and off it goes into the endless ether that is the Internet. I click on the next email and address it in a very similar way. It is insane how many times we have to rerun people's insurance claims. One would think that their might be something wrong with this industry. I know that there is something wrong, but hey, don't shoot the messenger. This is just a job for me and I really need it, as it pays better than most of the bullshit around here.

5:28- I am hoping that by working arbitrary minutes after five, I will reach my 40 hours for the week or perhaps I will even receive some overtime. I click the "clock out" button and head to my car.

I stop by the liquor store on my way home. The bottle at home is getting a bit low and I am getting anxious. The smell of brown liquid hits my nostrils and although it is so familiar, I still revel in it. It represents everything that brings me peace in this world. Tonight, I will be drinking and watching The Office. I have a very vague idea of what each episode is about, but who cares? I have seen it already.

7:24- I am out of the shower and I am ready to get things done. Today, I have some pep in my step and I have no idea why, but it doesn't matter. I am going to make to work at a decent time and I am going to have the perspective today that this is just a job. I don't need to worry about what happens to these people. I know they are likely going to be in a lifetime of debt, but they can finance it. It will just be another bill. It is okay. We all have to go through this in some fashion.

7:54- Where is he? I am actually kind of sad that he isn't there. Did he finally find a home? Or, did he move on to some other intersection? Oh, well. I hope that all is well with him.

8:09- "Hey, where's Jeebz?" (We gave him the nickname after we found out that he still uses 'AskJeebz' as a search engine.)

"He'll be out for a few days. His son died."

"Oh, no." I half-assed exclaim.

"What happened?"

"He hung himself." Shell tells me.

"Please don't mind me for asking, but why?"

"Well, Garrett was telling some of us a while ago that Daniel was having a hard time. He'd just lost his job and his landlord kicked him out. I think he might have been shooting up, too. The last time I saw him, he was hanging out at the Memorial exit."

"I... I don't know what to say. I think I remember seeing him a couple of times. I had no idea that was Garrett's son, though. How's Garrett holding up?"

"He's not great, Carl. I'd say his world is broken."

"When's the service?"

"It's at Weiland's Funeral Home at 10 on Saturday."

"I just wish I had known. Maybe I could have helped somehow."

"It's okay. I'm sure Garrett would have said something if he wanted us to do anything for him."

"Yeah, but his son was right there. Why didn't he say anything?"

"I don't know. I guess he just didn't want to trouble us with it, or maybe he was embarrassed. I really don't know."

"I just feel so bad for him. I don't know what I'm going to say. Am I bad for not really talking to him for the past few months?"

"Don't worry about it. Like I said, I think he would have said something if he really wanted us to step in."

"Yeah, I guess so, but I feel like it's one of those situations in which I could have reached out to him instead of waiting for him to reach out to me... or us, for that matter. He hasn't really said anything for the past few months."

"Yeah, I know what you mean, but I don't know what we could have done. I mean, it was up to Daniel to figure his shit out. He was a 34 year old man. At that point, you're kind of in charge of your own problems."

Saturday, 10:06- "Hey Garr. I'm so sorry. I had no idea, man. How you holding up?"

"I'll be alright. He was going through a lot. I just wish could have brought him home. I couldn't. I told him that if he kept shooting up, I couldn't have him in my house. Now, I just wish he was here. God, I love him so much."

Tears are running down his face. I reach in and give him a hug.

"It's alright. I know you cared about him. If you need anything at all, please just let me know."

I really hope that he doesn't actually need anything. I'm just saying what I think needs to be said. I feel like an asshole, but doesn't everybody behave this way?

"It's okay, Carl. I'm just glad you're here. I think he would have liked you. You're a lot like him in some ways."

"I wish I could have met him."

"You did meet him. He was at our Christmas party back in 2018. It's okay. I know he was kind of quiet."

"I'm trying to remember. Yeah, I think I do. He was the guy carrying that blue bag, right?"

"Yeah, that was him. He always had that bag with him. It was like a vital organ for him, haha. I never knew what was in there. Spare clothes and phone charger? All his meds? Haha...."

His laugh at this point seemed nervous, like he was doing it just to alleviate the situation. I patted him on the back. What else do I do? He was always nice guy, but I never really got to know him.

"Whatever it was, I'm sure it was important."

Garrett bursts into tears, "I just wish I could have helped him."

Monday, 7:29- I'm up and ready to go; a little hung over, but ready to go. Just another day.